Across Oceans of Time
by Nightrose1831
Summary: Bound together by dreams, brought together by fate. In all of his wanderings across the earth, he never expected to experienced anything like this. Susan Kay based, Erik/OC, Modern Day, for a mature audience.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Phantom of the Opera, Assassin's Creed, or any other show, movie, etc. I reference. Suing me would be useless, as I have no money!**

**Welcome to my new phic and the first under this penname! As this is a story concerning adults, I will include scenes containing drinking, cursing, and topics of a passionate nature…if this offends you please look elsewhere for something to read!**

**Tucson, Arizona, June 9****th****, 2011**

"I'm sorry, Shaun, but I don't think we're going to work out."

Without further explanation, Artemisia hurriedly shut the door before he could begin to argue. Feeling quite guilty, she sighed and ran a hand through her long, light brown hair and surveyed her darkened apartment.

_I shouldn't have shut the door on him_, she thought, leaning against the door, _but hopefully he'll leave me alone after this_.

Acting on the insistence of Morgan and utter boredom, she had finally relented to Shaun's numerous and non-too-subtle requests for a date. While Artemisia, Art for short, enjoyed dancing, drinking, and reveling in her youth like everyone else, she quickly tired of such places. She also had the sneaking suspicion that Shaun had chosen a club so they would have little opportunity to talk about anything of substance.

_Somehow I doubt he's capable of having a conversation actually worth listening to_, Artemisia thought, yawning and scowling at the time displayed on the microwave.

3:15 a.m.!

Groaning at the thought of work the next day, Artemisia slowly removed her red, satin heels from her aching feet. She shuffled across the pitch-black living room to her bedroom at the back of the apartment and turned on the lamp by her bed. The only sight greeting her was the mess of clothing and makeup she had left in her haste to meet up with Shaun.

_At least I didn't drink a lot_, she thought, tossing a pile of rejected dresses from her bed to the floor; _a hangover would be extremely inconvenient tomorrow!_

After a brief sojourn into the bathroom to complete her nightly toiletry rituals, Art jumped into bed, her dark blue eyes lingering on the empty side of her bed. Wishing for the entire world that she wasn't alone, Artemisia flicked off her lamp and quickly fell asleep. Perhaps if she had stayed awake for a second more, she would have seen a shooting star illuminate the sky like a bolt of lighting before it descended below the horizon.

**Istanbul, Turkey, June 9****th**** 1854**

"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think we have a room available for tonight or for the rest of this week"

_No room for me, you mean_, Erik thought bitterly, turning away from the terrified desk clerk without another word. As he left the shabby little inn/tavern, he noticed several of the gruff looking patrons staring insolently at him from over their tankards and pipes.

_If you bastards had any idea who you were pissing off…_

Bristling with resentment over the promise he had made Nadir in a moment of camaraderie, he pulled up the hood of his black cloak over his dark hair and exited into the dark streets.

Glad to be out of that stinking rattrap, Erik began retracing his steps. He had ventured to the poor district of Istanbul, hoping that his ample supple of gold would distract the poverty-stricken innkeepers enough to rent him a room for a few days, but he had found no such luck. Reluctant to leave the city before he had a chance to fully enjoy all of the sites, Erik decided he would have to be a bit more inventive if he wanted a place to hide from the world once the sun rose.

The normally bustling city, with dusty, narrow streets and color bursting into bloom in every corner, seemed a mere ghost of its daytime splendor. Although it was very early in the morning, the wandering genius observed many people more desperate for shelter than he was, most of them terrified children huddled together in rags. A young boy and girl caught his eye as the boy pulled the shivering girl into his arms in a pathetic attempt to keep warm. Although their eyes widened with fear as Erik approached, like death silently choosing his victims, their expressions changed to bewildered wonder as he dropped several gold coins into their severely battered begging cup.

_At least they'll get a room tonight_, he thought dispassionately as he heard the exclaim of delight and grateful prayers to Allah, _I hope they don't get robbed before they make it to shelter…_

Shrugging, Erik continued up the street and cynically noticed the gradual improvement of his environment as he slowly traveled back to the wealthier parts of the city. Hoping to discover an abandoned house in which he might stay, he lost track of the time and soon found himself standing in the middle of the largest bazaar in Istanbul. The sun had risen, driving the inhabitants of the city house from their stuffy houses and into the brilliant light of day. It seemed to Erik that the entire population of Istanbul had decided to visit the open-air bazaar in search of food, clothing, or whatever else they deluded themselves into believing they needed.

Pulling his hood further over the mask, Erik tried to navigate through the massive, boisterous crowd without bumping into anyone but failed miserably. Body tense with apprehension, he quickly slipped out of the crowd into a dark alleyway.

Cursing, Erik leaned against an alley wall; trying to think of a place he might rest for the day. Against the other wall, a young man sprung out from under what looked like a bundle of rags.

"Hey!" he said, angrily, "get out of my alley before you attract the guards!"

"And why should the guards bother you? It's not illegal to be poor, is it?"

Instantly the man's dark brown eyes looked around warily. His disheveled appearance and torn robes suggested to anyone with half a brain that he was up to no good. The sounds of jingling coins, more than any street urchin should possess, reached Erik's ears as the man straighten up in an attempt to look intimidating.

"I don't care if you stole anything," Erik said, turning away, "I will warn you not to try robbing me, for you will not live to realize your mistake."

As he began walking down shadowed alleyway, littered with discarded goods from the bazaar, Erik quickly realized that he was being followed.

"Hey, wait up!"

Erik paused out of surprise. Rarely had anyone ever called out to him. The young man caught up with him, slightly out of breath, and Erik was able to get a better look at him. A few inches shorter than himself, the young Turk wore the customary turban and robes, although the dark red fabric was a bit worse for wear. Curly brown hair peaked out from the turban, and although he was covered in a layer for dirt and grime, Erik could tell he was around his own age.

"Big words for a new-comer," the man said, grinning at Erik, "my name's Ahmed, and as you may have guessed I am a professional thief."

Ahmed gave a funny little bow and frowned as Erik began to laugh.

"Professional?" he said, sarcastically, "If you were, you'd know that the name of the game is to act like you know what you're doing. Looking guilty is the fastest way to be caught."

The thief's eyes narrowed into slits. Glaring at Erik, he crossed his arms and huffed.

"I'd like to see you do any better!"

Pulling the hood from over his mask, Erik was prepared for Ahmed's surprised intake of breath. His mismatched eyes bored into the thief's brown ones.

"I already have," Erik said, smirking beneath the mask and holding up ornate coin purse.

"How did you do that?" Ahmed exclaimed, his expression dumbfounded, "I didn't see your hand at all!"

Tossing the purse back to the thief, Erik shrugged.

"And that," he said, replacing his hood, "is why you are not a professional thief."

Waking with a start, Artemisia, immediately registered the fact that she was covered in sweat. Shaking her head in disgust, she threw off the covers and sighed with pleasure as the ceiling fan blasted her with cool air. Judging from the position of light streaming in through the red curtains, it was about 9 a.m. on a sunny, June morning. Although she had fallen asleep only a few hours before, she felt wide-awake.

_What a crazy-ass dream!_ She thought, as she tried to remember specific details about the vision. A middle-eastern bazaar, exotic spices and finery, a thief named Admed…wait; it wasn't even her in the dream! She had been looking through the eyes of young man, heavily cloaked and hooded.

While Artemisia had, on occasion, been other people in her dreams, rarely was it this clear, not to mention someone of a different gender!

"I've got to stop playing so much Assassin's Creed," she whispered to the empty red room, already glowing bright as an ember, "it's messing with my brain!"

Laughing at nothing in particular, she sat up in bed, grabbed her iPod from the nightstand, and proceeded to check her mail. Artemisia Jones, graduate student and self-proclaimed fashionista, rented a one-bedroom apartment in an uninspired, generic-looking building within walking distance of the University of Arizona, in Tucson. By day, she worked diligently on her master's degree in Art History with a part-time job at the campus museum. By night, she was a hostess at the only German restaurant in town.

With a "click!" Artemisia set down her iPod and preceded to fill the morning with mundane activities one does everyday. She didn't have work until 4:30, but she had agreed to meet up with her friend, Morgan, for a late lunch on the strip near campus. Trying to push away thoughts of her puzzling dream, Art curled her hair and threw on a tea-length black dress with a hot pink petticoat just peaking out from the hem. After applying black and silver eye-makeup, she slipped on her black flats and left her apartment, pausing only to grab her silver bag.

"I thought you and Shaun would go so well together!" Morgan exclaimed, disappointedly.

Artemisia could only stare blankly at her friend.

_Seriously_, she thought, twirling the straw in her chocolate milkshake, _when have I ever expressed interest in self-serving little toadies like Shaun…_

"He's just…a little girly, don't you think?" Art began, choosing her words carefully, "he talks a mile a minute, a trait I have only ever found in airhead girls."

Morgan sighed, exasperatedly. As she ran her fingers through her chin length ebony hair, it was obvious to Artemisia that Morgan was tired of having this conversation.

"You're too picky, Art. If you rule out every guy with a lizard tongue or a low IQ or an explosive, violent temper, of course you're gonna be lonely!"

"Don't you quote Futurama at me, missy!" Art said, with a grin, "Love's Labours Lost In Space, season 1, episode 4."

"Naturally," Morgan quipped, "that doesn't help with your guy problem, though. Why don't we go out after work! Beth is having that party, you know."

Artemisia groaned, as she had been looking forward to returning to her apartment after work and watching _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ for the millionth time. Alas, once an idea was in Morgan's head, one was hard-pressed to change her mind.

"Fine, but I'm not going to bother changing out of this," Art said, gesturing to her dress.

"You look great," Morgan said absently, rifling through her bag for her phone, "better if you were wearing heels, but…"

Their sandwiches arrived before Art could begin a tirade against heels. As Artemisia bit into her Philly Cheese steak, satisfying a craving she had had since Wednesday, her thoughts wandered yet again to her dream. Deciding it was best to keep silent, she plastered a smile on her face and went back to enjoying her lunch.

Artemisia and Morgan caught the bus outside Johnny Rocket's to the Bavarian Grill across town, the small German restaurant where they both worked the weekend night shift. Morgan, a longtime waitress at the establishment, had secured Artemisia a hostess job during the summer once classes had ended. It was easy work and definitely nice to receive an extra $70 each week in addition to the pay she got at her museum job. Even so, her paychecks rarely yielded the opportunity for shopping, a vice she was unfortunately fond of.

The early evening passed in a haze of faces and names, half-empty water glasses and classical music no one appreciated anymore. Occasionally Morgan would pop by her hostess stand, to quickly exchange meaningless gossip about the staff or softly giggle about that awful dress the lady at table 6 was wearing. Art listened half-heartedly, her mind replaying the dream over and over.

_Why is this bugging me so much? _She thought crossly, as she beamed a false smile at an old couple that had just entered the restaurant, _I can't get it out of my head that I know who I was in that dream…_

Ten o'clock slowly rolled around and Art found herself leaving Bavarian Grill with Morgan, who had insisted that she be cut from work for the rest of the evening.

"Art and I are going to a party," she had announced loudly to the rest of the staff and by association the entire restaurant, "she desperately needs a guy!"

Gritting her teeth at the memory and the hopeful look the owner gave her, Artemisia prayed that the party would suck and Morgan would want to leave early. After a dull bus ride through the darkened city of Tucson, the two girls made the trek back to the small section of the city solely devoted to overly expensive student housing fondly dubbed, "The Fort". After a quick detour to Meg's place to change out of her boring waitress uniform into a silver tank top and jeans, they were ready.

Beth's tiny house was surprisingly packed that night, considering that parties starting at 9:30 usually didn't hit a high point until around midnight. Already partygoers were strewn out around the front lawn and porch, drinking, laughing, and generally making a cacophony of sound. Artemisia smiled as she recognized another friend and waved.

"Hey Morgan! Art! How are you two?"

Artemisia internally groaned as Steven, always the drunkest guy at the party greeted them. The last time she had seen him was at this very house for the end of the semester party, passed out in a lawn chair with crude drawings all over his face in permanent marker. She was glad to see it had come off.

"Hey Steven, we're just coming from work…" Morgan said, as Artemisia slipped away to find a drink.

Entering the blue house, Artemisia found that the couch in the living room had been pushed aside to clear a space for a dance floor. Only a few giggling girls were dancing to the questionable 80's music and Art felt way too sober to join them. Continuing to the kitchen in the back of the house, she found a repurposed fish tank about half full of the infamous, red "hunch punch". Feeling like she wanted to make the best of the evening, she poured herself a cup.

"Hey Artemisia! I love your dress!"

Turning around, Art found the hostess of the party, Beth, beaming at her. Beth was a short, perky redhead who loved beautiful clothes as much as Artemisia did. While Morgan preferred jeans and t-shirts, Beth and Artemisia appreciated the lost art of dressing like a lady. Tonight Beth was wearing a gorgeous black and white bandage dress and Artemisia once again lamented the fact that the two could never borrow each other's clothes. Artemisia was about 5' 9" whereas Beth barely reached 5'0" without the aid of heels.

"Oh thanks, I just got off of work with Morgan and I didn't feel like changing, I love your dress too!" Artemisia said, "looks like you're gearing up for one hell of a party!"

"Yeah, I'm glad everyone's into it," Beth said, looking around at her chattering guests, "Shaun should be stopping by, but I'm sure you knew that! See you around!"

Tossing back her drink, Artemisia grimaced and considered leaving before anyone else realized she was there. As if she could read her thoughts, Morgan appeared beside Artemisia and challenged her to a round of jello shots. Soon, both girls were laughing at the dumbest comment, and for the first time that day, Artemisia was able to forget about her dream.

A few hours later, Artemisia found herself in a conversation she could barely hear over the din with a guy whose name she couldn't remember.

"So what's are you studying?" what's-his-name asked, confidently.

_Ugh, what a generic question, _she thought, taking a sip from her 3rd cup of punch.

"I'm working on my Master's degree in Art History," she said, unenthusiastically, "what about you?"

"Wait," he said, looking as if he were concentrating really hard, "so your name is Artemisia…and you're studying Art History! Dude, did you do that on purpose?"

Not bothering to hide her grimace, Artemisia gave the customary, smart-ass reply when someone made this connection.

"Yeah, before I was born my mom went to a psychic who told her that I was going to be an Art History major and that she should name me Artemisia," she said, sarcastically.

"Really? Dude, I wish my mom had visited that psychic!" he said, slopping hunch punch all over his shirt.

"Right…" Artemisia said, as he turned away to find a towel. Spying Morgan in a corner chatting away happily with a guy she vaguely recognized, Art left the kitchen for a change of scenery.

She was happy to find that the dance floor had become quite a bit more active and while she normally couldn't stand rap or hip/hop, the energizing rhythm of the music was irresistible. Allowing herself to be drawn into the crowd of dancers, Artemisia quickly lost herself and forgot about those surrounding her.

In her mind, she ceased to be Artemisia the boring academic and became instead a favored dancer in the court of a sultan; flowing, gilded silks clinging to the curves of her undulating body, perfumed by the seductive scent of jasmine, beautiful and graceful, yet dangerous.

Artemisia was reminded once again of her dream, of the curious young man searching for a safe haven in a city of thieves. She wondered if he ever found what he was looking for.

_What am I saying?_ She thought, spinning around, _it was only a dream!_

It was then that Artemisia looked up and noticed the couple that had just entered the house.

Shaun…and a blonde girl she knew from somewhere.

Regretting the decision to snap out of her reverie, she quickly turned as Shaun made eye contact. It became apparent that Shaun intended to make her as jealous as possible, considering how dedicated he was to hanging all over the blonde he had brought with him.

_Of course_, Artemisia thought, as Shaun made a show of grabbing the blonde's ass during a particularly raunchy song, _that girl who was making eyes at him last night at that club! I bet he went to scam on her after I slammed the door in his face._

Grinning broadly at Shaun, to his anger and confusion, Artemisia narrowly avoided being groped by Steven, who was well on his way to another black-out, and went back to the kitchen to find Morgan.

Surrounded by a group of admires, Artemisia was forcibly reminded of Scarlett O'Hara in _Gone with the Wind_. While she was happy her friend was getting attention, mainly because Morgan would be less likely to concern herself with Artemisia's "guy trouble", she was slightly jealous of Morgan's ability to casually chat with a group of people about any old thing. Artemisia was dreadful at small talk, even with a little liquid courage, and found that it often prevented her from getting to know people.

"Hey Artem…Arteh…Art! Geeze it's hard to say your name when I'm drunk!" Morgan said, to the amusement of her fan club, "Let me introduce you to these charming gentlemen! This is Art, my awesome friend, and she's going to school for Art History!"

"Woah, cool, did you choose your major because of your name?"

Artemisia closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Yeah, I think I'm going to go, Morgan," she said, backing out of the kitchen, "I'll see you later-"

"Don't go!" Morgan exclaimed, making everyone around her jump, "the night is young and so are we!"

"Three a.m. is hardly early in the evening," Artemisia said, tossing her empty cup away, "I take it you're not stupid enough to get raped and murdered once I leave so call me tomorrow, ok?"

"Alright," Morgan pouted, sticking her tongue out, "you're such a spoil sport! You really should have someone walk you home-"

"I'll do it, Art and I have a few things to discuss, anyway."

Recognizing the voice, Artemisia groaned and turned to find Shaun giving her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"That's a great idea!" Morgan said, interrupting before Artemisia could protest and pushing her forward, "see you tomorrow, Art!"

Biting back a verbal lashing, Artemisia wordlessly followed Shaun outside. Guests were beginning to pair up at that point, either with those they had come with or met at the party. Artemisia wondered how Shaun's blonde friend was managing without him.

"What about your date?" Artemisia questioned, spotting the blonde in question, "won't she be utterly lost without your illustrious presence?"

Shaun snorted in derision as the blonde glared daggers at Artemisia from a corner of the porch. Wearing a blue and turquoise sequined mini skirt with a black tank top, she garnered several appreciative stares from the male percentage of the party.

"Hell if I care," he said, pretending not to see his date, "she's just some easy lay I picked up last night. I was actually hoping to get rid of her at this party."

_Fuck you_, Artemisia thought angrily, looking back to see the blonde surrounded by a hungry looking pack of guys, _even if she is a skank and allowed herself to be picked up by you, she's still a human being._

Pushing past a group of stumbling girls in heels, she quickened her pace in an attempt to lose Shaun. He was right on her tail, however, and continued to follow as she crossed the street and turned left.

"I'd think you'd be more appreciative, Artie," Shaun said, calling after her, "most guys wouldn't walk home a girl who ditched him like yesterday's trash."

_He's trying to goad you_, Artemisia told herself, gritting her teeth, _just walk home and maybe he'll get mugged on the way back to the party…_

"Morgan begged me to ask you out you know," Shaun said harshly, stomping along behind her, "she said you were in love with me but way too shy to do anything about it."

_Morgan…,_ Artemisia thought dangerously, _he better be lying about that…_

"Sure, you're pretty hot," he said, contemplatively, "but you're so weird that it's off putting to a lot of guys. I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Yeah, right!" Artemisia said, breaking her silence, "'I'm not sure what Morgan told you but I only said yes because I was bored and I felt sorry for _you_. I'm sorry I wounded your pride but you're just going to have to get over it!"

Shaun's angry red flush was obvious even in the paltry light of a street lamp outside Artemisia's apartment building. Turning around to dig her keys out of her bag, she sighed as a wave of guilt washed over her.

_Damn it, why can't I enjoy being a bitch once in a while? _she thought angrily, fiddling with her keys.

"Look Shaun," Artemisia began, turning around, "I'm sorry it ended how it did but I think we can agree that you were only after one thing. Why don't you go back to the party and try to get to know your date before you pawn her off on the next guy?"

Without waiting for a reply, Artemisia strode over to the main door of her building, unlocked it, and slipped inside.

3:15 a.m.

"Talk about déjà-vu," Artemisia muttered as she glanced over at the microwave clock, gleaming brightly in the dark kitchen.

Slightly tipsy from the punch she had consumed, Artemisia stumbled back to her bedroom. Delayed only by the necessity to remove her makeup and dress, she eagerly slipped between the deliciously cool sheets. Too tired and drunk to consider the possibility of dreams, Artemisia instantly fell asleep.

**Please review and tell me what you think! **


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I made it to the second chapter! My schedule has been a little erratic lately, but I plan on updating once a week. Please let me know if you have any constructive criticism, as for the past few years I have been writing research papers as opposed to fan fiction, or phan phiction. **

**I'd like to thank my wonderful reviewers, xXironhidehorseloverXx, willothewisp62, and Maxniss Everide, for their encouraging feedback!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, Assassin's Creed, or any other show, movie, video game, etc., I reference.**

**Istanbul, Turkey, June 9****th**** 1854**

Against his better judgment, Erik took Ahmed's offer of a place to stay as the city of Istanbul seemed to be bursting at the seams with people and prices for rooms were through the roof. While Erik was quite wealthy from his exploits in Persia, last night had shown him how he could expect to be received at even the most disreputable of inns.

Slinking in the shadows of the dusty, humid alleyways, Erik followed Ahmed to a so-called haven for thieves and other outcasts of the city. A less courageous or foolhardy man may have hesitated at the thought of visiting a den of debauchery, but Erik was confident that any man who dared to cross him would soon regret it.

The two men came to a dead end, a rough, grey stonewall that could easily have been a thousand years old. A sun-bleached tapestry with geometric designs of cream, gold, red, and navy was arranged on the wall, as was a stacked pile of crates to the left.

"And now, my friend, we continue this journey from a different vantage point," Ahmed said, grinning at Erik.

Taking the crates at a run, Ahmed leapt from the top crate to the flat roof of a building parallel to dead-end alley. Turning right, he expertly balanced himself on a clothesline stretching over the street and to an adjoining house. No stranger to unconventional modes of transport around big cities, Erik steady followed Ahmed's progress as he sprinted across the roofs of Istanbul. Passing through the rich district of the city, Erik's eyes greedily drank in the breathtaking sights of terraced roof gardens, tiled fountains, and courtyards cast in cool shadows. He dearly wished for the chance to examine these attempts to capture paradise but as he was running at break-neck speed, they appeared as little more than glimmers of light that caught the corners of his eyes.

After about an hour of dodging guards and racing around minarets and towers, Ahmed finally descended a ladder. The sun was high in the sky and even Erik, who was generally cold by nature, was beginning to feel the oppressive weight of the early summer heat. Wishing he could remove the hood and mask, he wiped sheen of sweat from his brow the best he could and sincerely hoped that wherever they were going had access to water.

"Here we are!" said Ahmed, after a brief walk through the poor district, "home sweet home!"

The "home" Ahmed was referring to was actually an abandoned church, a crumbling grey structure that seemed to be as old as the city itself. Unless Erik was mistaken, and it was unusual that he was, the church seemed indicative of early Christian architecture, in that it was based on the designs of a Roman basilica. It was truly a testament to the skill of the workers involved that the building was still standing. Although the boarded up windows and air of neglect left much to be desired, Erik was momentarily awed by the thought of all the wars and crusades that the church must have witnessed.

"Hey!" Ahmed said, waving his hand in front of Erik's mask, "the building isn't going anywhere, let's get out of this heat!"

Without further ado, Ahmed strode over to the front doors of the church and preformed a series of knocks that acted as a password to keep out those who did not belong. After a pair of suspicious eyes appeared behind a crack in the door, a young boy in faded blue robes opened the door and let them pass.

A general cry of "Ahmed!" echoed around the vaulted ceiling as Erik's eyes took a brief moment to grow accustomed to the sudden darkness after hours of running around in the sun. Individuals from the darker walks of life littered the faded mosaic floor, staring at him unabashedly from their piles of tattered cushions and blankets. The smell of incense, shisha, and opium smoke accumulated from centuries past flooded his nostrils, or rather, the nostrils of his mask. Thieves, prostitutes, cutthroats, and other unwanted freaks had made this their home since before anyone could remember; regardless of crimes committed or religious creed, once a soul was brought to the Church of the Damned, they were always welcome.

Seated at the back of the church, where an altar would have been, was a rotund man in brown robes and turban sitting on his moth-eaten cushions as though he was emperor of the world. Surrounded by his would-be courtiers, this man was obviously the leader of this rag-tag bunch.

Ahmed stepped forward and, after giving another of his funny little bows, asked Erik to introduce himself. Extremely gratefully of the fact that he knew Turkish, Erik bowed gracefully.

"My name is simply Erik. I have traveled very far and as you can see," he said, spreading his arms in a graceful gesture, "I am accustomed to receiving prejudice from others who do not trust a man with an…unusual appearance such as mine. I wish to stay in Istanbul for a period of time and as I have had no luck making other arrangements…"

"Say no more, my friend," the man said clapping his hands together, "You may call me Altan. My son Ahmed is an excellent judge of character. If he thought it wise to bring you here I will respect his decision. If you have peace in your heart, I give you my word that no one here will cause you any problems.

"Now! You both look dead on your feet! Ahmed, please show our guest the way to the bath and ask Musa to bring him water. Then perhaps you will grant me the privilege of listening to tales of your adventures."

After he had gratefully cleansed himself in the water provided by Musa, a shy boy of about 12, he replaced the mask and changed into black robes of soft cotton. Feeling much more refreshed and surprisingly cheerful, Erik retraced the steps Ahmed had shown him and returned to the main room of the repurposed church.

Although the windows were boarded up, the masked nomad could tell it was growing late in the afternoon. More people had joined the crowd, happy to be out of the brutal sun. They stood in small groups, recounting the events of their day, as Altan noticed Erik's reappearance and gestured for him to join a scrubbed table that had been set out at the back of the church with a veritable feast.

"We are blessed that Kadir was able to steal our evening meal from the palace of the Sultan himself!" Altan said, beaming at the group of individuals gathered around him, "with the hardships of the past few years it is very rare that fortune smiles upon us with such bounty! Please enjoy, everyone!"

Dutiful prayers rang out around the hall before the massive crowd surged forward and begrudgingly formed a single file line. Altan asked Erik to meet him upstairs, where they could speak away from the clamor of the raucous crowd.

Upon reaching the second floor, which overlooked the main room of the church, Erik found another table laden with food, most likely obtained from the same unwitting benefactor as the last. Seizing a plump, black olive from a large terracotta bowl, he lifted the chin of his mask ever so slightly and popped it in his mouth.

_I don't think an olive has ever tasted so sweet, _he thought blissfully, as it had been over two days since he had last eaten.

"Please be seated, my friend!" Altan's booming voice rang out, causing Erik to jump, "you've had a long journey and I wish to here news of the outside world."

More than a little annoyed that Altan had been able to sneak up on him, Erik bowed his head in acknowledgement and took the chair opposite the mysterious philanthropist. Such individuals were abundant in literature, but how often did one meet an honest thief in real life?

"This is a very interesting operation you've got here," Erik said, after he grabbed a few finger foods he could eat without disturbing the mask too much, "not many people would share their tables with vagrants, thieves…murderers…"

Casting him an appraising eye, Altan gestured to the noisy people below.

"They are merely products of their environment," he said, taking a drink of wine from a wooden goblet, "what a man does not have, he must borrow. I, like my fathers before me, am merely attempting to…redistribute wealth."

Erik gave a harsh laugh and raised his eyebrows, an action unseen by Altan, but effective nonetheless.

"Don't you find that difficult? Isn't it tempting to keep all of the intake for yourself?"

"Of course!" Altan said, laughing, "I don't pretend to be a saint. My family is well connected in the opium trade…owning this building and allowing unfortunates, many of them opium addicts to live here…let's just say I do alright."

Nodding his head in silent agreement, Erik had to admit that he was impressed. This was a man who understood business.

"Besides that," Altan said delicately, lowering his voice, "I continued my work with the hope that my path would once again cross with a unique individual that I had the great fortune of meeting several years ago…a remarkable young virtuoso who wore a mask to hide his extraordinary deformity. It's been a long time, Erik."

* * *

><p><strong>Tucson, Arizona, June 10<strong>**th**** 2011**

Artemisia knew she was awake yet did not want to open her eyes. A throbbing headache had manifested overnight at the back of her head and she longed for nothing more but to sleep the day away. Faint nausea, however, kept her awake and drove her to the bathroom for ibuprofen and water. Shivering slightly, she returned to her room and grabbed a dark blue terry robe and her iPod before heading to the kitchen. The best hangover cure she knew was a bowl of hot ramen noodles a.s.a.p.

As her clumsy attempt at ramen was heating up in the microwave, Art slunk over to the magnolia flower print couch on the other side of the room and checked the time on her iPod.

11:00 a.m.!

_How time flies when you're drunk_, Artemisia thought, sardonically.

Wondering if Morgan was up yet, the microwave timer beeped impatiently, alerting Art that her relief in the form of massive amounts of sodium was ready. Returning to her bedroom, she turned on an episode of The Office and slowly ate her ramen until she felt much more human than she did earlier. Still feeling a little hungry, Art decided to call Morgan.

After a few rings, a sleepy-sounding Morgan answered the phone.

"What is it…?" Morgan asked groggily.

"Feeling about as good as I did earlier?" Artemisia quipped cheerfully.

"Ugh…"

"Poor Morgan! I was thinking about going to Waffle House for some well needed greasy sustenance. You in?"

"That sounds great. Will you give me a few minutes to get ready?"

"Why don't I come over there? Do you want me to bring some ramen?"

"Nah, thanks but I've got some here. Oriental flavor!"

"Ehh, I think I'll stick to chicken. See you soon!"

Hanging up her cell phone, Artemisia stretched and strode over to the tall, white chest of drawers she had owned since the 3rd grade. Despite the fact that most of the handles were broken due to years of being moved around, it was nice to have a constant in her life.

Artemisia had, until last year, lived in Florida with her grandmother. An orphan from the age of 10 after both of her parents had died in a car crash, she had enjoyed her life with Grandma Rose in the bustling city of Palm Harbor. Just a twenty-minute drive from the beach, she had found solace in the beauty of the waves and spent much of her teen years strolling along the shore.

While it was not unexpected and Grandma Rose had warned Artemisia that her time on earth was drawing to a close, the passing of her only living relative devastated the young woman. Faced with an uncertain future, Artemisia decided to leave Florida and head west for graduate school as she had just received her bachelor's degree. After selling her grandmother's house at a decent price, enough to cover her massive out of state tuition and then some, she packed up the few sentimental items she wished to keep and drove to Arizona to start a new life.

_Did I make the right decision? _Artemisia thought pensively, as she pulled on a teal sundress.

_No use thinking about it now, old girl, _she thought. Smiling to herself, she remembered a favorite quote of her grandmother's, _it's not right to think about anything serious before you've had a proper breakfast!_

* * *

><p>"So, Morgan, a funny thing happened on the way back to my apartment last night…"<p>

Amid the noise and chaos that is Waffle House, the two friends began to dig into their All-Star breakfasts of scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, and waffles. Located within walking distance of their apartments on the Strip, Art and Morgan had ended a late night of drinking there more than they cared to admit. Taking a sip of coke, Morgan looked up at Artemisia, pure joy sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh thank God for caffeine!" Morgan said, back to her energetic self, "What did you and Shaun decide to give it another chance?"

Artemisia snorted as she drank her orange juice.

"Yeah, right," she said, "I'm talking about something he let slip as he was ranting on about how awful I am. Something about you telling him that I was in love with him…ring a bell?"

Morgan paused in the action of bringing a forkful of eggs to her gaping mouth. If Artemisia had not been trying to look intimidating, she would have laughed.

"Oh, _that_,"

"Yes, _that!_"

"Look, I know it was rotten of me, but I knew he wouldn't bother trying if he didn't think you liked him."

"He said _love _not _like_!"

"Well, he was exaggerating," Morgan flatly proclaimed, "I only said that you hoped it would turn into love."

Slapping her hand against her forehead, Artemisia sighed and looked at Morgan.

"I know you're only trying to help but please don't!" Artemisia begged, "I'm perfectly happy being single. Besides, I'm way too busy for a boyfriend."

"Nonsense," Morgan said, chopping on a piece of bacon, "you only say that cause you've never had a relationship that lasted longer than 6 months!"

Scowling, Artemisia attacked her hash browns with relish. Deciding to let it go, the girls enjoyed their breakfasts in cheerful conversation, ending in a good-natured contest as to who could completely finish their All-Star. As both girls were old pros at the game, it resulted in a draw much to the annoyance of Morgan who insisted that all of the jelly and butter must be used in order to avoid disqualification. After a colorful expletive in which Artemisia told Morgan exactly she could stick the remaining jelly and butter, they paid and left the restaurant.

Feeling energized and better than ever, both friends had time to kill and decided to spend a couple of hours walking around the Strip. After a lengthy trip into Queen Bea's, a popular vintage shop, during which Art seriously debated blowing half her rent on a gorgeous lace and chiffon lilac sundress, Morgan remembered that she needed more incense. As best shop for that was the local head shop, Flashback, they crossed the street and went inside.

Upon entering the tiny shop, its wall plastered with posters depicting 90's bands and other pop culture references, Art's sense of smell was gently caressed by the seductively alluring smoke of incense and hookah pipes, as Flashback also hosted a hookah bar. The sight of patrons scattered around the floor on cushions, reclining and slowly puffing on the precious fruit-infused shisha struck a chord with Artemisia as she suddenly got a feeling of déjà vu.

_It's not like I haven't been here before_, she thought, frowning a little and following Morgan to the back where the incense was kept.

Art grabbed a little baggie and proceeded to count out 30 sticks of incense. Flashback offered a wide variety of scents, including but not limited to Evergreen, Desert Sage, Jasmine, Honeysuckle, Pomegranate, and Queen of the Nile, one of Art's personal favorites.

Pausing to glance at the colorful tapestries hung on pegs beside the incense table, a particularly vibrant geometric design caught her eye. As she stretched it out to get a better look, she was once again hit with an odd feeling of familiarity. The cream, navy, red, and gold colors seemed to call out to her from a forgotten memory…or dream.

_I had another dream again last night about that hooded stranger!_ She thought, realization thundering through her veins, _I must have forgotten about it, as I was feeling so awful this morning…_

Releasing the tapestry, Artemisia began perusing the racks of indie brand clothes, the action providing a distraction from her racing thoughts.

_Is it normal to dream in sequences like this? Especially if I'm not even in the dream! Why can I never remember his name when I wake up?  
><em>

Sensing that Morgan was ready to leave the shop, Artemisia gathered her incense and after a moment's hesitation, grabbed the tapestry and went to pay.

"Decided to get a tapestry?" Morgan asked, placing a baggie of incense and an ivory peasant top on the register counter, "it's really pretty!"

"Yeah…" Artemisia said, distractedly, "It reminds me of something I saw in a dream…"

* * *

><p>Morgan and Artemisia soon parted ways as it was a Saturday and they both had work at the Bavarian Grill later that afternoon. Upon returning to her sunny apartment, Art tossed her brown bag on the couch and decided to get to work hanging her new tapestry. She wasn't sure why she bought it, while it was very eye-catching it really didn't fit in with the rest of the Asian inspired living room. Nevertheless, she found the perfect spot for it against the far left wall and, admiring her handiwork, plopped down on the couch to consider the tapestry.<p>

_Did I really see this in my dream last night?_ She thought, trying to shift through the images in her head. Ahmed, the thief had been present, she knew that much, and as she concentrated a vision of the rogue running up a stack of crates and leaping onto a roof swam before her eyes. Just behind him, hanging on the alley wall, was the tapestry.

_It must be a coincidence_, she thought reasonably, pushing the idea out of her mind.

The otaku in her could hear Yuuko san's words from the manga/anime _xxxHolic_ mystically advising her, _there is no such thing as coincidence, only fate._

As it was already 3, Artemisia reluctantly got to her feet and began going through the motions of making herself presentable for her hostess position. Putting on an episode of Parks and Recreation for background noise, flashes of the dream kept pervading her thoughts. Now that she had remembered, Artemisia could not figure out how she could have possibly forgotten.

After curling her hair, Art considered the small collection of black dresses she kept in rotation for her job. While she had been slightly disappointed to learn that she was only allowed to wear black as a hostess, she soon learned that this was out of necessity. One night, a few weeks ago, she had felt rebellious and wore a dark grey dress. At the end of the night, upon seeing her dress out of the dim lights of the restaurant, she had found several stains running up and down its fabric. Since then, she had relented to the masking power of black.

_Mask…_, she thought, choosing a flowy spaghetti strap dress that fell below her knees, _I think my dream persona wears a mask…_

Careful not to mess up her mane of curls, Artemisia slipped into the dress and walked over to a mirror beside her bed. She gently applied a dusting of glimmering gold eye shadow over her lids, adding a bit of dark green in the crease for a pop of color. After a swipe of black eyeliner and mascara, Art grabbed a headband with gold leaves trailing one side and placed it in her hair.

Satisfied with the effect, she pulled a purple bag out of her closet and slipped on her black flats. Without a moment to loose, as it was almost 4, Art hurried out of her apartment into the soft light of the late afternoon sun.

**For those who are unaware, an **_**otaku**_** is basically a person who does nothing but stay home and watch anime. **

**Please review and if anyone can place the "redistribution of wealth" reference, you will receive an honorable mention in the next chapter!**


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